


Hurting You Hurts Me

by DaggerHale, soullessbrothers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, M/M, Spanking, Weechesters, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, Young Winchesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:27:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaggerHale/pseuds/DaggerHale, https://archiveofourown.org/users/soullessbrothers/pseuds/soullessbrothers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sammy doesn’t come home when he’s supposed to and Dean needs to punish him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurting You Hurts Me

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Sam is fourteen. 
> 
> Special thanks to DaggerHale for the Sam dialogue and beta. She's perfect.

The door bangs shut behind Dean. He ignores the desk assistant’s flinch and glares into the open space. There are small groups of students at tables and an old man reading a paper in a soft chair. Strangers flick through the shelves. When he sees a mess of curtained fringe hunched over books alone, Dean stalks forward. He digs fingers into the shoulder and growls as soon as he hears a yelp.

“I, Dean—!”

“Get the fuck up.”

Sam hisses. “Let go of me!”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

Dean’s hand lowers to the top of Sam’s arm and squeezes through his t-shirt. Sam bites his lip to hide another cry. Dean bites fingernails hard through the material.

“Dean, I’m trying to study! Ow!”

“You make me tell you one more time, Sam, and I swear to fucking God.”

His grip loosens. Dean snatches Sam’s bag from the floor. He dumps it on the table and sweeps everything into it. Books, papers, Sam’s notebook and pens. He doesn’t care if any crumple. Dean’s palm is firm and there’s a ripping sound. Sam opens his mouth to protest, but Dean glowers. He gets up and zips his bag while Dean watches. As soon as it’s on his shoulder, Dean picks up Sam’s jacket. He balls his other hand in a fistful of the back of Sam’s shirt. He pushes and Sam trips over one foot. Dean keeps him steady.

There are whispers. Sam tries to bury his chin into his chest, but his cheeks still redden. He can feel people staring at them both. They can see his big brother growl Sam out of the main doors. Sam recognises a few of the younger faces. They’ll talk about this back at school. The librarian at the desk picks up her telephone, but Dean and Sam are already outside.

“What the fuck, Dean?”

“You were supposed to be back two hours ago.”

“Yeah? I have exams tomorrow!”

“Two hours, Sam. Two goddamn hours.”

“I was just studying! It’s not like I was selling myself on a corner or whatever!”

Dean tenses and marches him back to the motel room. Sam struggles against every step, but Dean’s grip is past iron. When they reach the door, Dean throws Sam’s jacket over his shoulder and keys his way inside. Sam’s shoved in. Dean lets go and locks the door behind him. They stand for a moment, Sam in the middle of the room, until Dean moves to jam a finger into Sam’s ribs.

“You know, Sam, when Dad says you get back straight after school, you get the fuck back.”

“Oh, yeah, and Dad’s word is law, right? I keep forgetting. He’s not even here, Dean.”

“He’s not even here? That’s your excuse?”

“Fuck, Dean! When did Dad become God? Or is that just some kind of secondary position to Drill Sergeant Douchebag?”

Dean’s snarl sends a jolt through Sam. A fist ends up at his collar and Dean drags him closer. Sam chokes. The fabric is tight around his neck. There’s spittle at Dean’s mouth. His eyes are dark.

“Dad’s out there saving people, trying to find what killed Mom, and you want to stand here being a little bitch about it? Really?”

“Dean—”

Dean shoves him back and sits on the edge of the bed, knees right out. His jaw clenches. Sam frowns, taking in deep breaths.

“Get the fuck over here.”

“What? Dean—”

“I said get the fuck over here!”

There’s another hesitation, but Dean’s expression forces Sam to stand in front of him. Every muscle in Dean’s body is tense. He narrows his eyes.

“Bend over.”

“Dean?”

“You can’t hear me all of a sudden, huh? You get here, you bend over my fucking knee and you get what’s coming to you. Now.”

“What, you going to spank me?”

“One.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Two.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever—”

“Three.”

As soon as the word escapes, Dean snaps a hand up to yank Sam’s shoulder. It knocks him off balance and he stumbles. Dean’s knee slams up into Sam’s chest. The air coughs out and Dean tugs again, drags Sam over his knee the way that he demanded. Sam pants in that position and Dean’s left palm splays over the back of his ribs. Sam tries to knock his knee against Dean’s leg, but Dean pushes his hand down harder. Sam relents. His breathing plateaus back to normal even though he can feel bruises forming.

“You’re fucking lucky that I don’t just call Dad and tell him what you did.”

“Like you would.”

Dean juts his right knee up into Sam’s middle to bend him further. He lifts a hand and it slams down across his ass. Sam jumps. Dean smacks again. Three more times.

“You ready to say sorry?”

“I was at the library,” Sam hisses. “I was safe.”

“Uh huh. Who said you could go do whatever the hell you want? You’re a kid!”

“I’m fourteen!”

“Fuck you, Sam. Jeans. Off.”

“There’s no way I’m going to—”

“You really gonna push me?”

It takes a few moments of nothing to tell Dean that Sam isn’t going to move. Dean leans over to reach and fumble over Sam’s belt. He undoes it, but leaves it through its loops. His fingers concentrate on undoing the metal button and zipper. Sam gasps and grinds into the top of Dean’s thigh, but Dean’s too fast. He yanks the jeans down from the back and lets them drop down to the bend at the back of Sam’s legs. Another tug, and his underwear follows. Dean ignores the fact that Sam’s dick is on top of his leg, balls pressed into the side. He puts his hand back on Sam’s ass.

“Wanna say sorry now, Sammy?”

“You know what, Dean? Screw you.”

Sam tries to push himself up, but Dean presses him back down. The palm at his ass lifts and before Sam realises it’s moved, it slaps a cheek. The sting makes Sam gasp. Dean hits again. He smacks the other side.

“Fine. Count ’em out.”

“Fuck—”

Another slap rings and Dean stares at the pink marks it leaves behind. Sam clenches his ass tight. Dean grabs a cheek and squeezes until Sam chokes. He hides his face in Dean’s leg and at another snap of skin on sting, Dean can hear a muffled _one_.

“You think it was fun, huh? Waiting here, and you didn’t show?”

Smack.

“Anything coulda got you, Sammy. You coulda been dead.”

Smack.

“I spent an hour and a half fucking looking for you.”

_Whimper._

“Dean, please, I—”

“No. No. You did this. You did what the fuck you wanted and left me waiting.”

“Please!”

Dean strikes over and over. His hand turns pink to red and every hit claps the air. Sam yelps. He wets Dean’s thigh with tears, but Dean won’t stop. His palm burns. Pinpricks burn nerves and he smacks harder. Sam’s cries were at every crack, but now they won’t stop. Sam sobs, he clings onto Dean, arms around that leg as far as they can go. Dean’s tense, cock hard up against Sam’s stomach. He’s a machine in how hard those hits come, the deliberate two seconds of wait between each one. He watches Sam shake under the pressure. He hears Sam’s pleading, his begs.

“Dean, Dean, please, _uncle_!”

His hand is raised, but Dean stops at the word. He frowns. The room is thick with Sam’s tears, his harsh breaths. Dean lowers that hand and lets it rest over a cheek. Sam whimpers again.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t, I d-didn’t think—”

“You scared me, Sammy. You know how much I worry about you? When you’re out there? Alone?”

“I, I didn’t mean, please—”

Dean shushes him. His thumb draws a soft circle into Sam’s angry skin. Sam flinches at the touch.

“C’mon, Sammy.”

Sam can’t move. Dean has to shift and pull him up, tug him underneath his arms. The movement pours more tears and Sam cries properly. Dean stands up and helps Sam lie on the bed. He’s on his stomach, jeans and boxers at his ankles. Dean eases them off and bends Sam’s knees so he’s spread out. Sam doesn’t complain. He buries his head in the motel pillow and clings to it.

He has to leave him there. Dean’s tight in his own jeans, but he has to think of Sam first. He’s had his punishment. In a duffle, there’s some after-sun. It’s not much of an ointment, but Dean reads from the label that it’s a moisturiser. He squirts the cream into his hands and massages it in, warming it before he sits back on the bed.

“Sam?”

Nothing. Sobs.

“Sammy, this is gonna make it feel better, okay?”

Sam’s whimpers are still muffled and Dean gently rests his hands on Sam’s ass. His touch is as light as he can make it. Sam still jumps, his skin on fire, but Dean can’t stop. He smooths the lotion over both cheeks so there’s a thick layer of white. Dean rubs it in, gently at first until Sam’s tears are quiet. Gentleness gives way to something firmer, and he parts Sam’s ass, kneading softly.

Dean coos. “You okay?”

“I, y-yeah.”

“Damnit, Sammy. You think I wanna hurt you? See you like this?”

“N-no, Dean.”

“Like Hell I do. I gotta take care of you.”

“You, you do.”

“Don’t scare me, man.”

“W-won’t.”

“Good.”

Dean moves to lie up beside Sam. Sam turns his head to face him and he sniffs. Their foreheads rest together and Dean gives a sad smile. Sam barely nods. As they lay together, Dean keeps stroking his fingers over Sam’s ass. He ignores his erection. That’s his baby brother, fuck, he can’t keep doing this.

When Sam’s tears dry, he’s half-draped over Dean’s chest. He sleeps with his nose hidden in the gap under Dean’s arm. Dean’s half on his side, too. One of Sam’s legs is tangled between his, and the way that he’s parted, Dean’s finger slips further down. The tip ends up against Sam’s untouched hole. Dean should move it. He doesn’t.


End file.
